Arrival of the Birds
by fromthehillbythelake
Summary: Clare tries to help Eli write his paper, but he's determined to procrastinate. Fluff galore. ONESHOT


**This literally came out of nowhere but I needed some Eclare fluff so badly, and I hope you like this.  
I think it's one of my favourites. Yes. Definitely.**  
**I don't own.**

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"I can't write _anymore_, I'm not in the moooooooooood," he moaned, pressing his face to the floor.

"Too bad," she huffed, poking his cheek. "I told you if you didn't start sooner that this would happen."

He groaned, shutting his eyes and letting out a defeated sigh.

"Thanks mom."

"Oh shut up," she chided, reaching for the paper to look it over. "Here, just outline what you want to say, and then fill up the spaces with sentences. Sometimes making a guide is the best thing to help you stay focused. You're almost done."

"Or," he singsonged, "I could just have my beautiful, charming, intelligent," he rolled onto his side, quirking his eyebrows at her, "did I mention beautiful, editor do it for me?"

She pinched her lips together, determined not to smile.

"Not a chance," she said, pushing the paper back towards him. Then she put her hands below her chin on the floor, praying her blush wasn't too obvious.

He said something, his voice muffled.

"What?"

"I said, 'Bossy,'" he glared at her, pulling the paper towards him.

She flashed him a triumphant smile before she got up on her knees to grab her Fortnight book from her knapsack beside his bed.

When she crawled back, she noticed the wicked grin on his face, and that his eyes were devouring the exposed skin of her thighs just below her shorts.

"Work," she squeaked, her hands shaking. She buried her nose in the book, desperate to hide her flaming cheeks.

She could still feel his eyes locked on her, wanting the warm, gooey feeling in her stomach to go away.

"The book's upside down," he pointed out, his voice dangerously low.

"So?" she managed, turning it around slowly, still refusing to look at him.

Only when she heard the scribble of his pen on paper did she dare sneak a glance at him. She'd never seen such an amused expression on his face.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Clare was on her back, uncomfortable, but too engaged in the chapter to adjust her position. She was just on the cusp of reading the novel's most climactic moment, when she noticed that Eli stopped writing.

She turned her head to see him doodling all over the side of his paper, sporting a terribly bored expression. She sighed, shaking her head and turned back to her novel. She swore she could see him smirking out of the corner of her eye.

Many minutes passed, and Clare forgot her surroundings, completely engrossed in her book. She was about to begin a particularly steamy scene, when she felt Eli's hand on her thigh.

The book dropped from her hands onto her chest, and she let out a slight gasp, peering down at him.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his jaw hard. He held her thigh with one hand, while the other brought his pen to her skin. He started drawing on her leg, but just as Clare was about to protest, she noticed how innocent his expression was.

Without a word, he proceed to draw a couple of parallel lines, careful not to press too hard.

The moment was so intimate, Clare was sure that if she moved, the spell would be broken.

She craned her neck slightly, watching him work, and soon realized he was drawing a couple piano keys on her skin. He took a while longer with the black keys, colouring them in slowly.

Her skin felt tight too tight for her body, the room suddenly too hot. Her clothes felt rough and uncomfortable against her flesh, and she had this strange desire to shimmy out of them.

He finished seconds later, putting down his pen and placing his hand on the keys as if he could play them.

"Can you play piano?" she asked, her voice feather-light. He looked up at her, as if he'd woken from a dream, and she knew the moment was over.

"Yes," he answered smiling, but didn't look at her. He drummed his fingers along her skin once more before picking up the pen and turning back to his paper.

She wanted to ask what _that_ was. If he realized what he did to her. If he knew it wasn't fair.

"Will you teach me one day?" was all she could muster.

The pen was in his mouth in between his teeth, and the curl of his lips made his expression look almost predatory. His tongue pushed against it playfully.

"Sure," he answered, his voice soothing.

She felt a sudden thrill of intense bliss, sweeping over her like morning mist.

"Now?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

She scrunched her face teasingly at him. "Work," she commanded, picking her book up again and turning over so she was on her stomach.

"But I'm hungry," he whined.

"Work," she repeated firmly, "and maybe I'll make you something."

"Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?"

"No."

"Hmm. I'll have to change that. You're wonderful."

"Stop it," she blushed, her cheeks sore from smiling.

"You're cute when you blush."

"You'll do anything to not write this paper, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm still not doing it for you."

"Well, you're still wonderful."

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**AKSJFHSKJDHFJKSHDFHSDF. I LOVE THIS ONE. Review lovely? :D**


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